


Words Aren't Enough

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: A series of ficlets centered on the quiet moments of married life between one Councilor Ierian Sparatus and his wife Aediteia Epirian.





	1. I'm Okay, Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teia is injured at work, and Ierian worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by barbex on Tumblr.

“Ierian, I’m _fine,”_ Aediteia complained, leaning on her mate’s shoulder as she hobbled into their apartment.

Ierian glanced at her, raising a brow plate and lowering both mandibles. “You have a brace on your ankle, Teia. I don’t think that’s _‘fine.’”_

She huffed and shifted her weight so he could stand up without dropping her, then watched with a petulant tilt to her mandibles as he removed his cloak. “It’s just a sprain.”

“Yes, and a sprain needs rest to heal properly. And we’ve been married long enough for both of us to know you think doctor’s orders are more of a friendly suggestion when it comes to you.” He hung his cloak on its hook, then drifted back to hold hers as she shrugged it off. “The doctor said to rest, take your painkillers, and stay off that ankle. One of us has to make sure you do, and I _know_ it’s not going to be you.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms under her keel as he peeled the cloak off from around her shoulders. “You have no faith in me.”

“No, sorry, I’ve known you too long for that,” he teased, hanging up her cloak next to his. “Come on, to the couch with you.”

She raised a brow plate at him, but nevertheless leaned against him again and allowed him to help her to the couch. “What, you’re not going to insist on the literal meaning of _bed_ rest?”

He snorted. “Please. Despite what Ambassador Udina may have told you, I’m not _entirely_ heartless.” He paused, then added, “Besides, if you stay out here, maybe tonight I can actually sleep _under_ the covers, instead of next to them.”

She couldn’t really think of a response to that, so she just smacked him. He chortled, easing her down to sit in her favored spot on the couch next to the reading lamp, then lifted her injured foot onto the cushions beside her, taking a seat next to it.

She clicked her mandibles against her face. “The rest of my leg still works, you know.”

He _harrumph_ ed at her and leaned over to tap his frontal plate to hers. “My wife sprained her ankle getting shoved around at work. Let me fuss.”

She rapped her talons against the edge of his cowl. “‘Fuss’ is a naughty word with you.”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ like it when I dote on you?” He sat back and raised a brow plate.

She fluttered her mandibles. “You know that’s not what I mean. I hate it when you do that lawyer thing.”

He snorted gently and pushed himself back to his feet. _“What_ lawyer thing?”

“You know. When you get all pedantic and finicky about word meanings.”

“Technically-”

“If you correct me on the meaning of ‘pedantic,’ Ierian, I swear…” She put a hand to her temple, closed her eyes, and forced out an exhale, then reopened her eyes to see Ierian hovering near her hip, hand half-stretched out like he wasn’t sure if she’d welcome his touch. His eyes gleamed with worry, but the lines of his torso were etched in tension- restraint. He’d go away if she asked, both his body language and experience told her.

She hesitated, then sighed and lowered her hand, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, flicking one mandible and trying to put reassurance into her subvocals. “I guess I’m still wound up from the accident.”

Apparently taking this as a signal, Ierian moved closer, crouching so they were on a more even level. “I’m sorry, too,” he murmured, touching his nasal plates to her neck. “I know you hate it when I fuss, I simply…”

“Worry,” she finished for him, lifting her mandibles in a little smile and reaching over to clasp his hand. “I know, dear. Your plates go soft around me.”

“It’s a curse,” he agreed, pulling away and mirroring her smile. “Here, I’ll get ice for your ankle. Do you want anything from the kitchen?”

“Some tea would be nice,” she mused. “And would you mind going back to our room and bringing me that datapad from my side of the bed? I was going to read it last night, but I fell asleep before I could get anywhere.”

He nodded and straightened up with a grunt. “Of course, starlight.”


	2. Due to Unfortunate Circumstances, I am Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aediteia gets called in to fill in for a coworker. Early in the morning, on the weekend.

Ierian was used to being woken up by the comm going off. He’d even been tempted to stop setting an alarm and just let whoever needed his attention that morning to rouse him. So when his dream about shoving Udina off a cliff was interrupted by a loud, screaming buzz, he simply rolled over and reached for his omni-tool.

But to his surprise, the buzzing stopped before his hand even touched the little band that held the interface module.

His brain sluggish with sleep, it took him a full minute to realize his wife had sat up in bed, and was talking into her private comm line. “Yeah, sure,” she was saying with a yawn now, “give me… give me forty-five minutes to get dressed and get there. Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll see you there. Bye.”

There was a chirp from her omni-tool, then a hand on Ierian’s shoulder. “Ierian, sweetheart, I know you’re awake,” Teia mumbled. He rolled onto his back and looked up at her, and she gave him a weak smile. “I have to go in today, baby, Kalava called in sick and they need somebody to fill in her anchor seat on the morning news.”

So early in the morning, her words didn’t quite make it through processing. “But it’s the weekend,” he said, moving his mandibles in and out slowly.

She hummed and stroked his crest. Automatically, he nuzzled into the touch, subvocals sighing with contentment as his eyes closed, and Teia said, “I know, sunshine, but I’m Kalava’s substitute, remember? And this time of day, they have limited options for who they can call in.”

He cracked open an eye, then sighed. “Give me a moment, I’ll go with you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that…” She trailed off into a yawn, then concluded, “Go back to sleep, sunshine.”

He hummed and sat up, dipping his head so he could touch the top of his crest to her zygomatic ridges. “It’s no trouble, Teia, really,” he told her, taking her hand in his. “I know you hate getting called in for the early morning work. Think of it as emotional support.”

She rubbed her cheek against his crest with a faint purr, then sighed. “Fair enough. I doubt the studio would kick _you_ out.”

He smiled and nosed at her neck. “You should get dressed, starlight.”

As always, the old pet name made her mandibles quirk up, and she spared a moment to give him a quick hug around his cowl before she scurried out of bed and over to the closet. He watched her go for a moment, then sighed and heaved himself out of bed, too. There was no point in procrastinating.

Teia may have needed to look respectable, but that didn’t mean _he_ had to. Pulling on a muscle shirt (blue, of course, with red stripes along the hems) and switching out worn gray sweatpants for a less-ratty black pair, he mused to himself that being councilor certainly had its unexpected benefits; when he didn’t have any formal obligations, nobody dared question _his_ wardrobe choices. If he was lucky, he’d be able to go back to sleep on a couch or something.

While Teia fussed over her outfit, he wandered out of their room, muffling a yawn with his hand. There wasn’t time for a proper breakfast, and he doubted he’d be able to cook anything without burning it in his current state, anyway. “Teia,” he called back over his shoulder, “you should eat something before you go on, is there anything in the kitchen you want?”

He heard her hum for a moment before she replied, “I don’t know, I haven’t poked around in there since yesterday morning. Surprise me.”

He raised a brow plate, then shrugged and ambled into the kitchen. “Surprise me” was about on par with “you know what I like” when it came to getting food for his wife- that is, not helpful in the slightest. Still, there was an entire cupboard full of things that they _officially_ only kept on-hand for when the grandkids visited, but both of them snacked on when they thought the other wasn’t paying attention. It was always a safe go-to; he could always find something more filling for her later.

As he was pulling down a little box of pastries usually reserved for the mornings when their granddaughter was at her most sullen and unruly, a pair of arms slid around his torso, and the distinct scrape of nasal plates against the back of his cowl got him to turn his head. “I don’t _want_ to go to work,” Teia whined, running her face all along his back. “I know I have to, but…”

“But you wanted to stay in bed all day so we could cuddle and watch vids,” he finished for her. “I know, dear. But you were just saying why you have to go.”

Her mandibles flicked against his back. “Maybe I changed my mind. You can use Council authority to get me out of it, right?”

“You know I can’t.” He pried her arms off his abdomen just enough so he could turn around, mandibles fluttering as her head thumped down onto the rim of his cowl. “Do you see why I volunteered to come along yet?”

She puffed an exhale up at him, then sighed and withdrew. “Promise we’ll snuggle later?”

He hummed and nosed at the top of her head. “I think you already know the answer to that one.” Handing her one of the pastries out of the box, he added, “And I’ll buy you coffee, so you don’t have to suffer that terrible sludge they serve at the studio.”

Teia considered this, then thrummed her acquiescence. “Deal.”


	3. Good Evening, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aediteia has been working late, and comes home to Ierian asleep on the couch.

Aediteia yawned wide as she walked into the apartment, unceremoniously dropping her bag in the chair by the door. She hated working so late. Half the studio had been running itself ragged for the past couple weeks, trying to cover a serial murder case in Zakera Ward that had gotten serious enough the Council had sent in a Spectre to help the C-Sec team. As a senior reporter, she’d been assigned to take point on the story, and as exciting as it was, she wished it didn’t mean working almost every hour she was awake. “I’m home,” she called, reaching up to unclasp her cloak.

There was no response. Strange, seeing as the vidscreen at the other end of the main room was on, currently playing some ad for the skycar lot a few levels down. Curious, she hung up her cloak, then padded forward. “Ierian?”

This time there was an answer, albeit not one she was anticipating. As she approached the couch, she noticed a light snore emanating from the other side, and her mandibles quirked up in a tiny smile. _Ah._

She rounded the coffee table to find her husband stretched out on the couch, head on the armrest and one arm dangling lifelessly off the edge. That must have been the arm holding the remote, because that lay a talon’s length beneath his hand. He’d at least changed out of his work attire, business-casual suit replaced with a baggy shirt and sweats.

With a quiet hum, she reached for the remote and turned off the vidscreen, then set it aside and shook Ierian’s shoulder. “Ierian,” she thrummed, “Ierian, dear, wake up.”

A quiet grunt, then his eyes cracked open for a second before fluttering shut again. Then they snapped open as he registered what he’d seen, and he tried to sit up with a groan. “Teia, spirits…” He yawned, closing his eyes again, then shook his head. “Did I fall asleep?”

She chuckled. “Yes, dear, yes, you did. Were you waiting up for me? I told you I’d be working late again.”

He rubbed at his neck, and she backed up as he hauled his legs around to put his feet on the floor. “I was watching the news,” he grumbled.

Her mandibles fluttered. “Hoping to see me?” she teased.

He hesitated, and his neck gained a faint tinge of blue. “Well… yes, actually,” he admitted. “You’ve been working so much lately, I barely see you anymore.”

He held out a hand, and she helped him to his feet. Once he’d finished swaying and catching his balance, he stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. “I’ve missed you, Teia,” he hummed, rubbing his zygomatic horns against hers.

Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed, pressing her head under his chin. “I’ve missed you, too,” she managed to get out. “I’m sorry, Ierian, I just-”

“Hey, hey,” he hushed, and his subvocals whispered a familiar calming chord. “I’m not blaming you or anything. I know you don’t get much say in this sort of thing.” He pulled away and put a hand under her jaw, tilting her head up slightly and brushing the pad of his thumb along her chin. “I’m just a sentimental old man who likes routine. We’ve done this before. I can live with not seeing my mate _every_ morning.”

She studied his eyes for a moment, then managed a small smile. “C-Sec says they have a strong lead. They should have it wrapped up in a couple days, now that Tulinia’s on the case, so my work days will probably be getting back to normal soon.”

“And I look forward to it.” He smiled back at her, both mandibles raised. His left was just slightly lower than the right, limited as it was by scar tissue, like it had been since they’d met. She’d always found it charming. “Until then, why don’t you go get changed into something more comfortable? I’ll make us both some tea, and you can tell me all about your day. Just like we always do.”


	4. Morning Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

“Ierian, sweetheart, glaring at the chrono won’t make time move any slower.”

Ierian grumbled and turned his head just enough to glower at his mate as she traipsed to her closet. “I still have three minutes, Teia. Let a man dream.”

She rolled her eyes, just before she turned her back on him to pick out her outfit for the day. “Even _you_ can’t get back to sleep in three minutes, Ierian. Might as well just get up now.”

“You doubt me.” It was an empty protest; they both knew she was right. With a sigh, he tossed back the covers and reached over to turn off the alarm for the day before it could go off. Sure, he could always rearrange his schedule so he could get more sleep. Turians only needed about six hours of it, so adjusting his times so he could have more time to wake up and get going in the morning would be easy. But he was seventy-five years old, and changes to his habits didn’t come easy.

He had enough time to pull his pants on before, “Ierian, do you mind..?” drifted across the room, like always. With a low hum and acquiescing subvocals, he lumbered over to his wife and helped her adjust her scarf. It always caught on her spinal plates, and she always preferred to ask him to get it for her, rather than fight with it herself and risk ripping it. As his hands brushed against her skin, he rumbled, “Where are you today?”

She chirped and fiddled with the clasp of her shawl. “Middle of Tayseri Ward again. See you for lunch?”

“It’s a date.” He finished with her scarf and moved his hands to her shoulders, stretching his neck forward to rub their zygomatic ridges together. “The skirt looks nice.”

“You think so?” She inspected herself in the mirror, swaying her hips a little and smoothing her hands over the fabric. “The floral pattern isn’t too much, is it?”

“You have an eye for coordination, Teia. It looks cute on you.”

She hummed, her mandibles tilting upwards and subvocals purring a pleased note. “I don’t think I believe you, but okay.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist for a brief hug. “That smile says otherwise,” he teased, nuzzling the side of her neck.

Her mandibles went higher, and she reached up to push his head closer to hers, the best she could do to return the hug given their position. “Go finish getting dressed, you big lug,” she cooed, “before we’re _both_ late for work.”

“The councilor is never late.” Still, he let go of her and retreated, watching her admire herself in the mirror for a moment longer before he turned and returned to his side of the room.

By the time he’d finished pulling on his clothes, Aediteia had left, and muffled voices from the vidscreen in the main room were drifting through the door. Muffling a yawn with his hand, he wandered out of the bedroom, and leaned on the railing overlooking the lower half of the apartment. Aediteia was below, sitting in her favorite spot on the couch and watching the news with a box of something on the coffee table in front of her. “What happened to being late?” he called down to her, trailing a hand along the banister as he headed for the stairs.

She glanced up at him, then turned back to the vidscreen. _“You_ were going to be late,” she retorted. _“I_ was already dressed and ready.”

“So you’re lazing around on the couch to make up for lost dilly-dallying,” he teased, trotting down the stairs two at a time. “I see how it is.”

She waved a hand at him dismissively. “Once we’re dressed, _then_ we have time to do nothing. I know you like leaving together, like the sentimental old man you are.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She twisted to look at him as he approached the couch, one mandible lowered. “I know that’s a common saying and all, but you’re already a lawyer, so it just seems like you’re making a bad joke.” She leaned over and picked up the box in front of her, then offered it to him. “Lanadenbul pasty?”

“What, cold?” he asked, picking up three. The store-bought ones were always just a little too small for one or two to be satisfying like homemade. “What kind of animal do you think I am?”

She chuckled as he popped one in his mouth. “Ooh, Councilor Sparatus, sir, _cold meat and pastry_ for breakfast. How uncivilized. What will the tabloids say, Your Excellency?”

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, snapping his jaws once, twice, and swallowing. He cleared his throat, then mused, “Either something about how lazy I am, or what a brute I am, depending on which species runs it. Or maybe something about my inattentive wife who doesn’t feed me well enough.”

They snorted simultaneously, and Ierian tossed back a second pasty as Aediteia closed the box. “Not too many, remember, or your doctor will have both our heads.”

He grunted and nodded, then swallowed and asked, “Think you’ll be done in time to pick up Novi, or should I get her?”

She hummed and checked her omni-tool. “I’m not sure. Tell you what, we’ll shoot for picking her up together, and I’ll comm if I can’t make it.”

“Sounds fair. Do you want to get coffee on the way to work? I’ll buy.”

She trilled to herself, picking up the remote. “Sure, why not? If we go now, we should have just enough extra time. Valern won’t mind, will he?”

The vidscreen went off with a _click,_ and Ierian pushed himself to his feet with a reluctant sigh. “I doubt it. He likes you. Where did I leave my bag?”

“Chair by the door. What about my camera drone?”

“Kitchen counter.”

They went quiet as they puttered around the apartment, grabbing their things. Ierian adjusted her scarf for her again, Aediteia fussed at his cloak, the door locked behind them, and they were off, hand-in-hand.


	5. Pretty Flowers, Ulterior Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ierian comes home with a gift for Aediteia. She is, of course, suspicious immediately.

Aediteia was just shrugging on her warmest, fluffiest robe when the apartment VI, muffled through the bedroom door, sounded a cheerful, “Welcome back, Councilor.”

With a slight smile, she pulled the robe closed around her keel and wandered out into the main room. “Ierian, is that you?” she teased. “Or is it Verres?”

Below her, there was a snort, and Ierian padded into view, craning his head back so he could look up to the second-floor railing. “It’s Casbius.”

She chuckled, then fluttered her mandibles and squinted at him, noting he had one hand held behind his back. “What’s that you’ve got, sunshine?”

He glanced behind him, then back up at her with a mischievous tilt to his mandibles. “Oh, I think you’d like it better if you came down here for a closer look.”

She raised a brow plate, then snorted and wandered over to the stairs. “So it’s a gift. What’s the occasion?”

“There’s no occasion.” His subvocals were a mix of innocence and amusement as he watched her traipse down the stairs. “Who says there has to be an occasion for me to get something for my wife?”

She smiled, readjusting her robe and tying the sash around her waist. “If there _wasn’t_ an occasion, you would’ve just said you saw it and thought of me.” She hopped over the last step, and promptly regretted it once she landed. Her heels and ankles burned as she hobbled over to Ierian, complaining, “Spirits, my legs aren’t what they used to be.”

Ierian laughed, offering her his shoulder to lean on. “You’re going to say ‘I’m getting too old for this’ before I will, and I’m never going to let you live it down once you do.”

She snorted and sagged against him. “Them’s fighting words, Sparatus.”

“That’s fine,” he mused, finally pulling his other hand out from behind his back. Her eyes widened as he offered her a bouquet of vibrant flowers, all soft pastels around a center of eye-catching periwinkle. “I have a peace offering, too.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth, then took the flowers with a little squeal. “Ooh, Ierian, they’re _beautiful!”_ she gushed, burying her face in the central blue blossom. “These aren’t from _Oma Ker,_ are they? Spirits, you know how to spoil a lady!”

“Just one lady in specific,” Ierian corrected, his mandibles lifted in a gentle smile. “I’ve had years to get it right, you know.”

“Mm, and you were such a fast learner.” She took a deep, satisfied inhale, then hummed contentedly and trailed a talon along the stem of a cluster of pinkish-orange buds. “Okay, so who’s in the championship this year?”

The noise that came out of her husband could only be described as a wheeze. “What do you mean, _who’s in the championship,_ I just saw your favorite flowers on my way home from work-” He caught her gaze, and it was like all the wind rushed out of him at once. “Acalin versus Navialine. It’s the biggest rivalry in the league, Acalin is _my_ city, _and_ Ambassador Madelivio is a Navialine fan, and as councilor I thus have an obligation to root for the opposite team anyway.”

She chuckled and stretched up to nip at one of his mandibles. “I thought so. You bring me Oma Ker flowers for four reasons: our anniversary, my birthday, the first day they’re in season, and the clawball championship tickets just went on sale. And since it’s not the right time of year for any of those first three…”

He heaved a sigh, but his subvocals hummed simply amused-amicable-sheepish. “Maybe I should get you those more often, and throw you off my trail.”

She purred and nuzzled him. “No, don’t. It’ll ruin how special it is when you _do_ get them for me. You get me a big enough variety of flowers that I can live with only seeing Oma Ker ones four times a year.”

He let out a low chirp and pulled her into a gentle hug. “Are random surprises still valid?”

“Obviously.” She turned and returned the hug, wrapping her arms so one hand clutched the lip of his cowl while the other rested on his hip. “So, when’s the championship, and did you tell Callie yet?”

His hum rumbled through her chest, and she smiled to herself as he answered, “Not yet. The match is in Apparitus this year. I wanted to ask if you’d rather spend the weekend alone, or go along for a little vacation.”

She blinked, then drew back so she could look up at him, one mandible quirked down. “Ooh, a weekend getaway on Digeris? You _do_ spoil me. I’m in. You go call your daughter and tell her about those tickets I’m sure you’ve already reserved, and I’ll send the studio a message asking for championship weekend off. And just so we’re absolutely clear, you get the night of the game with Callie, and the _other_ night with _me._ I want to be swept off my feet, here.”

Ierian chuckled and pressed his nasal plates to the top of her head. “I think I can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title comes from the song "Never Seen Anything Quite Like You" by The Script.


End file.
